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My sexual assaults story is uncommon for most and hard to most people to grasp. Who would believe that children are capable of knowing and doing such gruesome things to person? Most children are not like this and their experiences are different. It first happened when I was 8 years old while, my abuser was 7 years old at the time. I remember the abuse happening gradually as we build our friendship. It first started with us doing typical kid stuff like us playing together and joking around. And one day, he asked me to play this new game with him. I said sure. I thought it would be one of those silly jokes stunts of his. Instead he pulled my pants down and rubbed his private part against my bottom. It was really uncomfortable moment for me since, I grew-up in a strict Christian-based family. I have never witness anyone on television or heard of the things he was doing to me. Afterwards, I remember me being shy to tell anyone and feeling like I would get into trouble. So I remained quiet. How would any parent react if you see children engaging in sexual behavior? Wouldn't you automatically assume it was the oldest child to teach someone this behavior? This went on for almost 2 years. His behavior became more advance and his request got more weirder. One time, he begged me to drink his pee directly from his part. I told him no. And he stomped across the room mad. He kept persisting and demanding that I try it. Eventually, I gave in but, I told him only from a cup. It was the most dehumanizing experiences of my life. It was not long afterwards, that my father caught us. I remember me trying shove the boy off of me. And telling him that my dad was coming and he kept going harder and harder. I guess he thought I was lying to convince him to get off of me. He wouldn't stop until my father walked into the room.

I was with my ex and I had just started some new tablets that made me sleepy. I tell my ex that I’m going to sleep and he continues to play his video game. I wake in a daze around an hour later and he is raping me and enjoying it. I react by making noises out of fear and wait for him to finish up the act , I just froze in fear. Once it was over I was mad he never got consent but he told me that he thought I wanted it. It’s been nearly a year and I’m still not over it

I never realised I had to be wary of women, because I never expected one could take advantage of me. I had lots to drink and simply thought I had made a new friend. I was so drunk that I just went along with everything she suggested, even though I kept saying I had no interest in women. I still doubt myself and blame myself. I thought I was safe and never in my life expected a woman would sexually assault me. I feel nobody understands.

It was a cold snowy winter night just before the COVID shutdown spread across the country. I was attending the second-year graduate school class reception with a group of friends from the second-year graduate class. My "date" as my invitation to attend that class's event was really someone everyone knew was in a committed long-distance relationship and just using the extra ticket as a fun excuse to invite me as friend. It was a fun time to explore a historic mansion while having food and wine. An hour later, as it was about to conclude, one of the second-year's partners turns to me and tells me she would really like to meet me at a bar, and a group of people from that class are planning to go there. I turn to my "date" and we both agree to go. We drove to the vintage bar, one I never had been to before. I walk in through the snow and ice in my black high heels in a cocktail dress covered by my winter jacket, trying my best not to trip. A cocktail and a few conversations among classmates of my "date" later, I find myself in the corner chatting with the person who invited me to the bar from the reception. Something seemed off from the start of the conversation -- and it only got worse. The 30-something-appearing cis woman was a faculty member, yet seemed to serial date younger, new students at the same professional school -- a fact a classmate mentioned in passing with an eye-roll earlier. The one-to-one conversation with me appeared to go in circles, with her repeating the same stories over and over again without realizing that she was doing so. Awkward conversation, but it would just be a temporarily annoyance, my thought was. Yet it took an even more bizarre turn. She kept getting closer to closer to me as she was talking. At one point, she touched my shoulder, ostensibly to make a comment about how she liked my dress. She was mentioning her professional expertise and connections in the field I was, and still am, most interested in entering. She then started asking me awkward questions about how I was visibly trans, and then mentioned as a complete non-sequitur how she was the dominant "masculine" partner in her relationship. And then, to my horror, I noticed her abruptly lifting the bottom of my dress up and reaching underneath my dress to attempt to grope either my inner thigh...or worse. This wasn't just a slight motion; her hand was fully underneath my dress and moving fast upwards, from what I could clearly see from the brief glimpse I took. I immediately stepped backwards with a wide-eyed look on my face, in total disbelief of what just happened...and what did not happen that was mere seconds away from fully happening. She turned away in a hurry and walked back to her partner at the bar -- who was oblivious to what just happened -- grabbed him by the arm, and made an excuse to request to leave. This was not the first time I had experience attempted or completed sexual assault. Just like when I experienced rape the year of my college graduation, during a different cold winter night years earlier, I remember feeling puzzled, confused, and very much *not* wanting to put a label on what just happened to me. The events of each night leading up to the sexual assault always seem so random and not predictable as they are happening, but in retrospect, it is so easy to attempt to scrutinize every detail as a possible warning sign of what was to come. Yet I do not even want to think about the likely reality that the attempted sexual assault I experienced that night seemed to happen due to being visibly trans. When people think of post-traumatic stress disorder from an evolutionary perspective, it is typically thought of as an adaptive way to avoid situations of future danger. But when you're scared of social events and comments about personal identity, just think of how unpredictable the healing journey is.

my brother SA'd me multiple times. he never raped me, though. he once forced me to kiss him on the mouth as a "game" of some sorts. he would also smack my ass, call me a slut, and shame me for everything. before he got on medication, he would beat me up. he's on medication now, but he's still terrible. he got mad at me and said he would gangrape me. he never did, but it was still scary. i hate him, and he says i'm a bad person for hating him. he also denied ever SAing me. sometimes i feel like i'm delusional or something. i don't know, i'm just tired of living with him. i can't wait for him to move out.

At the age of four, my mom used to take me out to the trunk of her Jeep and beat me for 20-30 minutes at a time. She would hit me, pull my hair, and scream profanity at me. The physical abuse lasted until I was 11-years-old, and she only stopped once CPS got involved. My dad knew; he did nothing. At the age of 6, I got sexually molested at school by another female. My mother told me it was not molestation, and that I was just "playing around." At the age of 11, I was sexually abused by the neighborhood boys. They were in their mid-teens, and would touch me inappropriately, rub their penises against me, and tell me inappropriate jokes. At that same age, I was also dry humped on the face by multiple boys who I considered friends. At the age of 16, I was raped by a 26-year-old man. He groomed me beginning at the age of 14-years-old, and convinced me he was a safe person. At that same point in my life, I was raped by a 23-year-old that I had known for two years and considered safe. He took me to a room where we could "be alone" then proceeded to force himself on me. I was crying and telling him to stop, but he didn't stop. I dated him for three months after that, and he continued to pressure me into sex and emotionally abuse me. Starting at the age of 14-years-old, I began getting harassed online. I stupidly gave out my phone number and address to someone I had trusted, and they were posted on 4chan (a public image board). I was harassed daily: I received death threats; I received threatening phone calls; I would receive calls to my school. I then found out that the person I trusted killed a girl in his home city, and that they had proof I was going to be the next victim. At the age of 17, my step-dad physically assaulted me and almost broke my wrist. He put a cigarette out on my head, strangled me, and threatened me. My mom watched, holding the phone, and told me it was my fault for "not leaving when [she] told [me] to." The only help I got was from a neighbor who saw me run out of the house, covered in blood. That same year, I was kicked out because I refused to lift the restraining order off of my step-dad, and my mom gave me an ultimatum. I refused and went to live elsewhere. At the age of 18, I moved in with my first serious boyfriend. He was abusive and cheated on me multiple times. He would call me every name in the book and threaten to harm me and break my belongings. I did not get away until I was just turning 19. At the age of 20, I moved in with my dad. My step-mom was jealous of my dad and I's relationship and physically assaulted me and kicked me out on my 21st birthday. My dad did nothing again. At the age of 21, I developed life-threatening bulimia and anorexia and began drinking heavily to self-medicate. My fiance helped me through these disorders and saved my life. I am now 24-years-old and have many stable and healthy relationships--both in friendship and love. I am also receiving help via medication for C-PTSD, GAD, and major depressive disorder. I began therapy recently, too, and am learning to confront my traumas and move on. It's hard, and there are many things I remember each day that send me into a panic, but I want to heal and reclaim my innocence, power, and self-worth.

I had an aunt who had a son here in America. We were pretty close since our families only had each other here so we would go over to their house often. I was around 5 so he was like 7 or 8. We would play around the house while our parents talked and I remember us being in his parents room playing with some dinosaur figures one day when he closed the door and told me to go into the closet with him. I did and he shut the closet doors and started to tell me to do weird things like licking his hands and he would touch my privates. I cant remember exactly what else happened that day but I remember knowing it was wrong but I couldn't bring myself to tell my mom because I had done the things he told me to do. To be honest, I had forgotten everything until I went to Mexico for the first time and when I saw him, I suddenly remembered this day. I hate that I cant remember everything that happened and if it had happened more than once on separate occasions. I also hate that I'm scared of him and I don't know if he remembers. I haven't seen him since that day but it didn't seem like he felt awkward around me. I resent him so much because I have become hyper sexual but I feel sad because I wonder how he even knew this stuff. Was someone doing these things to him? I have only told my ex best friend and current best friend... I want to tell my mom, I know she will believe me, but I feel like it's already been so long that it won't change anything. I am now 19 and don't want to start any family drama. What should I do?

I was used by my brother who has grown up a lot but I still carry scars. My brother is four years older than me and when I was going from elementary school to Junior high, that summer, he made me think that girls in junior high need to know how to give oral to boys. First he did oral to me to show me it was not a big deal. I thought it was a huge deal. But I did it and he got me trained and had me keep it a secret, except from by best friend. He had his friend over when I had a sleepover one night and had her do it to his friend. Then they would have us do contests where they wear blindfolds. At least I was not alone then. It changed me even though seventh grade itself had nothing to do with anything like that. It was a lie to get pleasure from me. My brother still had me doing it at home. And sometimes he would do it to me and I did climax. So I had this weird secret sex life and felt really messed up about it. Then in eight grade I had my first real boyfriend. My parents are so strict, even though they both worked and left me alone with my brother. To go to the movies with my boyfriend they made sure it was with a group and took me there and waited outside the theater. Well one time when we went to see Snow White and the Huntsman my same BFF and me went through with our plan to go down on our guys in the last row of the theater and we did it. It was only a month later I started having sex with him which never would have happened if not for what my brother had done. We snuck out from her place during a sleepover and met the boys outside and went to the nearby park and did it in the grass. That was my virginity. The really bad event, where my life got knocked off the tracks, is when we tried it from my house, sneaking out the window and going just out farther into my big back yard that opened into nothing but the side of a big hill and my dad caught us. It was awful. The world ended. I was treated like a huge betrayer and almost all my privileges were revoked and essentially I was grounded without any end date. And still by brother would make me do the oral. I was broken hearted because I was not allowed to have my boyfriend to the point my parents made me go to the school and talk to the principal and vice principal and they made sure I would not have any chance to ever see him alone. And my brother kept creeping in at night sometimes or when we were left alone expecting me to do what he had trained me to be used to. The next really bad part was two months into my new restricted life. My brother started doing his oral on me one afternoon after school and decided to take it farther and got up and started kissing me and had sex with me. I was in the moment and did not do anything to stop him and even participated. No condom. It was an afternoon when my parents were away and so we did not have to keep quiet or worry and he did it so much longer than my few times with my boyfriend, because he was older and knew more from being with other girls that I got sore for my first time and got a urine infection. I did not eat my dinner that night and pretended to be sick and cried myself to sleep. My brother really wanted to do it again, telling me it was the best sex he ever had, but I refused and one thing I could say for him back then was at least he was not a rapist. Even though he pressured me he never tried to force himself inside me. Four months after I had lost my incest virginity the school year ended and he graduated. I went to high school and he moved out to live in college dorms 120 miles from our home town. Public school was over for me, as was planned as soon as my dad caught me on the hill. I went to an all girl’s Catholic high school. My dad had to drive me a half hour every morning and my mom picked me up from my whole first year. Then they got me a car so I could drive myself but the mileage and my times were closely monitored. I did not have an intercourse throughout high school but seven times total I did oral on my brother during summer and winter breaks when we were both at home. That was the end of incest in my life. I went to college in Atlanta but not the same one as my brother. I rebelled against my parents and even though they tried to keep control, as a legal adult I did not let them. Turmoil and sadness lasted months until they finally got it. I separated from them financial and worked and took out student loans. I was very promiscuous in college. I drank, partied and used drugs recreationally and had several guys I was seeing on and off for mostly sex. That was my life and I thought I enjoyed it at the time. I became stronger and more assertive and when my brother first hinted during a Thanksgiving meeting at our relative’s house that we go for a drive I told him I never wanted to touch him again in such a powerful way that he knew I was off limits and even seemed like the scared one in our relationship. I didn’t enroll in classes for two nonconsecutive semester just because my party life was so much more fun. I traveled on and off. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with men, usually older, who invited me to exotic places. The Maldives, Portugal, The Virgin Islands. I let my married boss use me for a weekend in Key West. I had an affair with my Spanish teacher, who only took me as far as Panama City, Florida. So many risky one night stands. My identity was that I was not looking for anything permanent, a child of the universe. While I was used as a plaything so many times and believed I liked the game. I would tell them things about wanting to make their dick happy and stuff that would inflate their ego. I’m sure there are so many text messages out there that they saved about the size of their D fitting in my little P, about being a little girl wanting them to teach me to be woman and other depraved fantasies I thought they wanted to hear. Obviously directly related to what my brother did to me. I am almost positive I avoided being raped more than once by going with the flow when I did not expect to or probably want to. It may be good that some of them I probably don’t remember. Once was at one of the few fraternity parties I ever went to. It was three guys, not my usual style. Once was with my roommate's father who was visiting her at our rented house and found his way to my bed in the early morning. One of the more extreme traumatic events was with a police officer who pulled me over for driving when I had been drinking but was under the legal limit on his breathalyzer. He followed me home, like a mile away, “for my safety” and even followed me inside. I was in an apartment then and I thought my roomate was home and told him so. But when she wasn’t there he said I lied to a police officer and he had to do a more thorough search if I wanted to avoid being arrested. He was not attractive or nice. He had a gun thought he never took it out. You can guess what happened. I finally shed that wild life during my second to last semester when I saw the end of college coming. My G.P.A was 3.3. and my major was philosophy and it dawned on me that the future was not bright in terms of what I would do or how I would pay back my loans. I buckled down and decided to change. I had an offer to strip and ‘make a lot of money’ but thankfully not only did never considered myself like that, but when I went with a friend for her interview and they tried to recruit me they were so sleazy we both ran out of there disgusted. I reevaluated my whole life. I considered ending it, but some survival mechanism did not allow it. I did not want to be the person I had been for a few years. I looked ahead and saw it was not sustainable as I aged and had no real love or stability. I quit serving when I got an offer to work in a legal office. I slept with the manager who hired me as a receptionist but it was a drop in the bucket of things to be shameful of. He was the last one like that. I got all A’s and graduated cum laude. I got promoted in the firm mostly by title but used it to spring away and take a lower paying job in a nonprofit law firm where I had not slept with anyone. There I did sleep with a lawyer but I am married to him still and my life is back together. I love him and he loves me. He does not know the extent of my sluttiness in college or about my brother and I doubt he ever will. That darkness is fading and it is not part of my life now. It is not who I am. As for my brother, he has a family now and we are on good terms. We did talk about it once while I was studying like crazy my senior year, although it was not a big deep talk. I did mention that he used me, he apologized, we hugged, and that was it. Not the cathartic confrontation some might expect. My catharsis is my husband, and my life now that I am grateful for. We adopted two toddler brothers and I am their mom. Maybe we’ll have one of our own. Maybe we’ll adopt again. I was used and introduced to sex too young and early and it strained my relationship with my parents for a long time and I’ll never get that back. It derailed my life. I was set adrift for a while but God or the universe or random luck finally put me in a good place. Everything that happened led me what I have now. I can’t say I never contemplated suicide in darker times. But like in the move Cast Away, if I may quote, “I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am.” Thousands of hours spent studying philosophy and I quote a movie that was not even based on a book. But it’s perfect.

The mind is an interesting, beautiful and dangerous thing. I find my mind to be especially so. I have always been an overthinker, and my thoughts have led me into dark places in my life. At the time of writing this, I am studying psychology and trying to work on a better understanding and diagnosis of my own condition through therapy and my studies. My story, this story, begins in 2022, the year I graduated high school. For context though, we must go back much further. Was I always depressed? Was I always insecure? Shy? Did I always hide in the corner? No! As a child, I was quite outgoing. I may have always been somewhat of a shy introvert, but I managed to make friends everywhere I went, eager to get to know others and play with them. I have always been extremely trusting, to the extent of naivety and gullibility. All the way through elementary school, I always had a large friend group and following. I physically grew faster than most kids, I learned faster than most and began tutoring my peers in fifth grade. My friends and I ran the playground. I was a leader, one of the cool kids. It brought me a sense of power, but it also led to me being obsessive, a control freak at times. The transition to middle school was different. Though I was still athletic and wasn't obese, I had gained a bit of weight that I could stand to lose. When swimming one time, someone whose opinion I greatly valued, pointed out my body. "You have rolls," they said. From that moment, I never saw myself the same. At that moment, insecurity truly crept into my life for the first time. From then on, I never took my shirt off around other people, even my closest friends and family. I wore a shirt whenever I swam, and when we were given middle school locker rooms for athletics, I changed in the bathroom stall instead. The friend group I once ruled the playground with, started to break apart, even if I didn't realize it. Part of it was because I stopped being one of the "cool kids," but looking back now, I realize that with my control, I was also not a very good friend at times. At the end of middle school, I learned that I would be moving to a different town and school. Though it was only a 30 minute drive away, for a kid with no transportation, it was a world away. This gave my friends the out they needed. I stopped hearing back from them until they eventually cut me out completely. A small few stuck around, but out of them, only one has stayed by my side to this day as an adult. The summer before high school was a hard one. My grandpa and his brother died within weeks of each other. With hardly any friends, my second oldest sister became my best friend for the summer. However, with her being four years older than me, as I was starting high school, she was off to college, and I was alone. As the youngest, I was an only child for the first time in my life, and my relationship with my parents at the time was almost nonexistent. When I started high school in a new and unfamiliar place, I was scared to death. I sat alone at lunch and in the corner of every classroom. My stress manifested itself as a painful black hole in the center of my torso. I couldn't bring myself to eat. In the first week of school alone, I lost about 15 pounds! To speed up my story a bit, I grew into myself a bit more, thinned out, worked out, and gained a bit of muscle. After the end of my freshman year, some girls actually started to find me attractive. I had a couple dates with a girl or two, and by the second half of my sophomore year, I had my first real girlfriend. Looking back at that relationship, I still thank God for bringing her into my life. As soon as she asked to sit next to me on the band bus, I knew she liked me, even though at the time, I wanted nothing to do with her for some reason. That single bus ride changed everything though. With main topics of conversation being random things like sandwiches and Veggie Tales, by the end, I had a new best friend. After a couple months of getting to know each other, we confessed our feelings and she soon became my girlfriend. We had a lot in common, including hobbies as we were both in band and theater. It was because of her that Covid wasn't such a bad time for me, as it was for most others. Though we were both very close, we were also both very awkward, and never intimate. We never had any talks about physical intimacy, so for the most part, we never had physical intimacy. The most "cuddling" we ever did was my arm around her shoulder, or her head on my shoulder. When we finally had our first kiss, it was 10 days before our 2 year anniversary. It was also just a quick peck, we never made out or anything like that. Through the remainder of high school, I was constantly worried about what I looked like and my image, trying to work out more and get stronger. I joined a fire academy to train to be a firefighter during my last two years of high school. Eventually, our lives started to go in different directions, and after about 2 1/2 years, we broke up 4 days before our high school graduation. As you can imagine, that was a pretty rough first breakup for me. With the way my brain works, after something like this happens, it becomes all I can think about, constantly. I overthink and over analyze every thought, every memory. I put myself through the different possible scenarios and outcomes, sometimes to the point where I start to lose my grip on reality, and what the true memories are. The black hole of stress returned to my chest. At first, I was convinced that she was still "the one" and that I would get her back after a couple years. Then, as my thought process continued to shift and spiral, I began to think that because the relationship ended, that must mean that it was a bad thing to begin with, meaning that I needed to find the opposite of what we had. Unfortunately, I got what I asked for. Only about two months had passed before I met another girl at a church retreat that I was volunteering at. This girl was someone that I had always seen growing up, but never interacted with. I always viewed her as being extremely attractive, and I lusted after her more than any other girl. She was one of the popular kids, the head cheerleader at high school. We started talking and she took an interest in me. She knew that I had just gone through a breakup because of a testimony I gave during the retreat. The more we talked, the more I realized that she was different than I thought. The red flags showed up early on. At this point, she was 17 as I was 18. At 17 years old, she had a list of the 23 guys she had kissed, and the 5 guys that she had sex with, versus the one girl I had kissed. I was originally convinced that she was a virgin like me, but that quickly flew out the window. She assured me over and over that she had only gone through a "hoe phase" and that she was different now (I came to find out later that this "hoe phase" happened only a month or two before we got together. We got together in August, and she had sex with at least 3 guys over the summer). Part of me didn't want to judge her based on her past. Part of me wanted the affirmation of someone as attractive as her being interested in me. Part of me adopted an "I can fix her" mentality. All in all, a recipe for disaster. After talking for a while, I eventually, nervously confessed feelings for her via word vomit after walking her to her car one night. To my surprise, she reciprocated those feelings. She then hugged me. This was no normal hug, as it was different from any other hug I had ever experienced. There was full body contact as she pressed against me. Part of me instinctively retreated backward, but she continued forward so that I was then pinned between her and her car. There was more physical intimacy in that hug alone than anything I had ever experienced before. This feeling was new and admittedly exciting. In my vulnerable and desperate state, I thought, "this must be love." On our first date, after going to Starbucks, we went back to my place to watch a movie. She asked if I wanted to cuddle, and I told her that I honestly didn't really know how. She showed me a few different ways/positions for cuddling, and we ended up spooning for the majority of the movie. I could tell that she wanted to kiss, but I was awkward and uncomfortable, so I just didn't say anything. We did decide to become official boyfriend and girlfriend though, which was a big, fast step. Of course, that was only the beginning. On our second date, we did end up kissing, which led to making out for about an hour. Another new experience for me. By the end of that date, we were already saying "I love you" to each other. With my previous girlfriend, I told her I loved her at a couple different milestones within the relationship, but she never felt comfortable saying it back, so this was my first time hearing words of affirmation like that. Two weeks in, she started ramping things up. She started talking to me about her favorite sex positions and demonstrating them (with clothes on). She told me about all her kinks and the things she liked. She told me that she didn't have a gag reflex and then proceeded to take my hand and suck on one of my fingers while making strong eye contact with me. Looking back on it, I realize that I was never asked, nor did I tell about what I might be comfortable with. I was of the mindset that I never wanted to have sex or even see my significant other naked before marriage, but I don't think I ever conveyed that. Later on that same date, we were watching a movie and cuddling as usual. I still remember the movie being "Phantom of the Opera." At one point during the movie, she let out a loud sigh. I asked her what was wrong. "Oh nothing. I'm just having intrusive thoughts." I asked what she meant. "It's nothing. You probably wouldn't want to anyway." I told her she could tell me whatever it was. "Oh, I was just thinking about putting your hand under my shirt." I got silent. I wasn't expecting that, and I didn't know how to respond. A moment later, she continued, "Do you want to?" I replied, "I don't know." She continued, "yes or no?" My response remained the same "I don't know." We went back and forth a couple more times, her voice becoming more and more of a seductive whisper each time. My mind was racing with thoughts of "Should I do this? I don't know, it feels wrong. What happens if I say no? Will she leave me? I can't lose her. I can't be alone!" To this day, I can't clearly remember if I actually said yes or not, but regardless, I didn’t say no, and I did what she wanted. I know now that it was all part of her tests to see how far she could push me little by little. Soon after that came grinding, and then sexual touching (all with clothes on). Over time, these memories have become a bit unclear as to exactly what happened and when. She started asking me to take my shirt off to cuddle. I thought that was a really weird request, especially still being very self-conscious about my body image, when shirtless most of all. I asked her why, to which she responded, "I like skin to skin contact." Though it made me feel uncomfortable and a bit ashamed, I complied and took my shirt off. She would affirm me and say how attractive I was to her. She would then become more passionate and eager to cuddle and make out. With the sexual touches, there became less and less clothes, down to underwear. She always gave me high praise and told me how good I made her feel, how happy I made her, and how much she loved me. I wanted to do anything I could to make her happy so that she wouldn't leave me. After dating for about a month and a half, we had moved up to oral sex. At this point, I was still so naive and uneducated that I thought I had lost my virginity. In my mind, this meant that we were eventually going to get married for sure. It only kept ramping up. If she wasn't on her period, we were engaging in oral sex every day, sometimes multiple times. We were always together every day. The longest we were ever apart from each other was about a week. By some miracle, we never went all the way, even though she constantly wanted to, and I still have my virginity to this day. However, with her kinks, she wanted me to be rough with her: to choke her, spank her, pull her hair, talk dirty, etc. These were all things that I was greatly uncomfortable with. At my core, I've always been a very gentle person, a hopeless romantic who wants to always respect women and keep them from harm. The thought of doing these things was horrendous to me, but it was what she wanted. I originally thought that I was the one fixing her, but I realize that she was the one breaking me instead. Or rather, I was broken from my first breakup, and she rebuilt me in her image. I became what she wanted me to be, putty in her hands. After being together for about 10 months, she suddenly broke up with me over text. The best reason I can come up with is that she finally got tired of my refusal to go all the way, the one boundary that I kept in place. I heard later that she had already been cheating on me anyway. Soon after we broke up, immediately in fact, she started spreading rumors. The day after she broke up with me, she blocked me on social media and posted about our breakup (one of my friends showed me the post). From there, it was one rumor after another. She even went as far as to tell some people that I raped her. Thankfully, anyone that knew me, knew that something like that could never be true, so that rumor never got anywhere. Still, I became extremely paranoid from that moment, always looking over my shoulder, wondering what people thought of me or what they've heard. To this day, I still have a lot of trouble trusting people, and I often get paranoid that everyone is talking behind my back, conspiring against me, planning to leave me. The breakup broke me in a different way than any other. I had been going to church for my whole life, but it wasn't until after the breakup that my eyes were opened and I felt the weight of sin crushing down on me. I tried to turn myself around on my own, but I got nowhere. It took me reaching the point of almost taking my own life that I finally realized that I needed help and couldn't do it alone. I talked to my mom about almost everything I was going through. Though I was never close to my parents, and I was always afraid of them when I was growing up, they were very supportive of me, and helped me to find therapy and get the help I needed. Today, I have a much better relationship with them. After letting myself be rebuilt in her image, God allowed me to break again, so that I might finally be rebuilt in His. It wasn't until reading the book "unwanted" by Jay Stringer, and going through "safe environment" classes at my church that I started to realize that I was groomed, manipulated, and abused. To be honest, I still struggle with this concept to some extent to this day. I don't tell many people because of fear that I wouldn't be believed. Who would believe that a younger girl groomed an older guy? It certainly isn't a very common occurrence. Part of me still blames myself at times. I feel like I should've known better. Part of me wonders if it was what I wanted all along. Part of me wonders how consenting I was. Part of me hates myself for not being able to just say no. Regardless of if these are truths or lies, I know I can't let them control me. I have to leave the past where it belongs and continue to live. Healing is possible, though it may not be easy. I've started sharing my story more, and while I'm unsure of its effect on other people, I know that it at least helps me in some way. I wish to share my story. To educate others. I may feel like what I went through was part of God's plan, necessary for making me the man I am today, but I still want to try my best to protect others from the same fate. Though I tend to grow the most after each time I'm broken, this is not the way it needs to be. There is a better way! Let this be a message to everyone that you are never truly alone! There is no need to fear people leaving you. Some people may leave, others may not. It should never change who you are.

The Story I Never Thought I Would Have to Tell It started at my job. He got a job where I worked, and at first, I would notice him walking by my desk. He would smile and wave at me. Eventually, he started talking to me. He was very handsome, charming, and attentive. He made me feel noticed. Very early in our relationship, he started talking about the future. He told me he wanted a family. He talked about getting married and building a life together. He even gave me a ring very early in the relationship. Looking back now, I recognize the first red flag: love bombing. But at the time, I didn’t know that. I thought I had finally met someone who knew what he wanted. Someone who was serious about me. Someone who wasn’t afraid to show me that he cared. There were flowers, nice dates, and little surprises left at my desk. He made me feel special, and everything seemed exciting and romantic. He had two children, around the same ages as my own children. We started spending time together as a family. We would take all the kids to the park and spend time together. Watching our children play made it feel like we were building the family he had told me he wanted. I believed him. He told me that he and the mother of his children were separated. Because he was bringing his children around me and including me in their lives, I never had a reason to believe that he was lying. But there was something I didn’t know. He was still married. And I had no idea that the relationship I thought was becoming my future had already been built on a lie. When Everything Started Changing Within about three months of our relationship, he told me he wanted me to move in with him. He started looking for a house for us, and eventually, we found one. It was a three-bedroom house, big enough for all of us and the children. I remember feeling excited. I thought this was the beginning of the family he had talked about from the very beginning. Then one day, everything changed. He told me, “My ex-wife lost her job and doesn’t have anywhere to live. Can she move in with us while she gets back on her feet?” It sounded like a question, but it really wasn’t. Eventually, he told me, “I can’t leave my kid and mother to fend for themselves. You can come live with us or not, but she is coming to the new house.” I gave in. I told myself it was temporary. I told myself it was about helping his children and that eventually she would get back on her feet and move out. He even arranged for the three of us to meet at a restaurant so we could talk about the living arrangements, rules, and expectations. She agreed to everything. She told me that she and him were no longer together and that this was only temporary. She needed somewhere to stay while she got back on her feet. So I believed both of them. I moved forward thinking I was moving into a home with the man I loved, and that his ex-wife was simply someone we were helping through a difficult time. I didn’t understand yet that I was slowly being placed into a situation where my boundaries, my comfort, and my choices were becoming less and less important. The Day I Moved In The day I moved into that house, I found out that she was in the master bathroom with him. I remember thinking, What is happening? This wasn’t what I had agreed to. This wasn’t the relationship I thought I was moving into. But somehow, he convinced me that this was just the situation we were in. He made me share a room with both of them. Eventually, I couldn’t do it anymore. I moved into one of the kids’ rooms with my children because I just couldn’t sleep in that situation. She eventually did the same. She slept with her children in one room, I slept with mine in another, and he had the master bedroom to himself. From time to time, I would still join him in the master bedroom. And somehow, in my mind, I kept trying to make sense of everything. I thought, At least he’s being honest with me, right? He had told me she was his ex-wife. He had told me they weren’t together anymore. He had told me she was only moving in temporarily because she needed somewhere to live. So I tried to believe what I had been told. I tried to convince myself that this was just an unusual living situation. I didn’t realize yet that I was already learning one of the most painful lessons of an abusive relationship: Sometimes the manipulation begins by convincing you that something completely unacceptable is actually normal. I was confused. I was uncomfortable. But I loved him. And when you love someone, sometimes you don’t want to believe what your instincts are screaming at you. The First Time He Put His Hands on Me Up until that point, he hadn’t physically abused me. There had been confusion. There had been manipulation. There had been things that didn’t make sense. But he had never put his hands on me. Then one day, everything changed. He went out with another coworker. Looking back now, I realize he was probably cheating on both of us—which, honestly, I can almost laugh about now because of how ridiculous the situation was. He came home late. Someone had apparently told him that before I met him, I had been involved with another man from work. It wasn’t true. But that didn’t matter. He came home angry and started yelling at me. And then he picked me up from one couch and threw me onto another couch. I was devastated. I cried and cried. I remember feeling shocked—not only because he had hurt me, but because I couldn’t believe the man I had fallen in love with had just done that to me. I started gathering my things. I was going to leave. But he wouldn’t let me. And somehow, just like so many of our fights after that, it ended with sex. Then he acted like nothing had happened. Like the screaming hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t put his hands on me. Like he hadn’t thrown me. And I went along with it. Not because I was okay. Not because I had forgiven him. I was scared. I had already learned that fighting back or trying to leave could make things worse. So I did what I thought I had to do to get through the moment. Looking back, I understand something I couldn’t understand then: That wasn’t making peace. That was survival. When the Abnormal Started Feeling Normal Eventually, he found a bigger house in a nice neighborhood for all of us. By then, I had been with him for about a year. Somehow, I had become accustomed to the living situation. What had seemed completely unbelievable when I first moved in had slowly become my normal. And something else happened that I still have a hard time explaining. I had started to care about the other woman. Or, more accurately, I had started to care about his wife. We were living together. Raising children under the same roof. Sharing the same strange reality. Over time, I became attached to her in a way I never expected. Meanwhile, his family didn’t even know about me. At work, people knew there was something going on. But even there, he would tell people that we were just friends and that he was only helping me out. He had another woman there too. Sometimes I still think about how he managed to live this double—or triple—life right in front of everyone without seeming to feel any shame. I couldn’t understand it. Eventually, we moved into the new house. The house was bigger and in a nicer neighborhood, but the environment inside it didn’t become better. The emotional abuse continued. And the physical abuse became something that happened here and there—another slap, another incident, another time when I told myself it wasn’t that bad. Eventually, it became the norm. The house had to be spotless. I was constantly walking on eggshells, always trying to anticipate what might make him angry. There were cameras throughout the house. I felt watched all the time. And eventually, even the children began learning how to manipulate me. I want to be careful when I say that because they were children. They were kids. They were learning from the environment they were growing up in. And I didn’t blame them. Instead, I tried even harder to take care of them. I wanted them to be happy. I wanted everything around them to be peaceful. And, if I’m being completely honest, I was also trying to protect myself. I would make sure the house was clean. I would take care of the children. I would do everything I could think of to make everyone happy so that he wouldn’t find a reason to be angry with me. I was constantly trying to prevent the next explosion. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was no longer living my life. I was managing his moods. The Fresh Start I Thought Would Save Us After about a year in that house, he decided he wanted to start over. In a different state. Fifteen hours away from our families. Looking back, I can see how desperately I wanted to believe this was going to change everything. The way I saw it was simple: We’ll be away from his family. Maybe now he’ll finally see me as his girlfriend. Maybe now I’ll finally have a real place in his life. I thought maybe the problem had been his family. He wanted to maintain the perfect family image for his very religious mother, and I convinced myself that once we were far away from everyone, things would finally be different. What an idiot I felt like later for believing that. But I wasn’t an idiot. I was hopeful. I followed him. We all moved to another state to start over. But the new beginning didn’t look anything like the future I had imagined. We moved into a small apartment. I shared one room with two of my children. He wouldn’t even let me bring my other two children with me at first. I had to beg. And beg. And beg. Eventually, after so much begging, I was able to bring my other children. I started working at the same place again, and on top of that, he had me take an additional part-time job with his wife. I was exhausted. I was beyond tired. I was working, taking care of my children, trying to keep the peace, and trying to hold together a relationship that was taking more and more from me. My children kept me going. At that point in my life, they were the reason I got up every morning. When Control Became My Entire Life Once we moved to the new state, everything got worse. There were cameras. There was GPS tracking. He controlled my phone. We worked at the same place, so even work wasn’t really a place where I could have space from him. But the control didn’t stop there. He had complete control over my bank accounts. I was working, but I didn’t really have access to my own money. He would leave me just enough to buy groceries for the week. And somehow, no matter how much I worked or how much I did, it was never enough. He would tell me I didn’t do enough. I didn’t make enough. Nothing was ever enough. He would regularly take my phone and go through it. If there were messages, conversations, or anything that could make him look guilty, he would delete them. I became terrified of having anything on my own phone that might upset him. I knew he checked it, and I knew that anything he didn’t like could become a problem. So I learned to be afraid of my own phone. But there was something else he did that I will never forget. Sometimes everything would seem completely normal. We could be sitting together watching a movie. We could be eating dinner. For a few minutes, it could almost feel like a normal relationship. Then my phone would get a message from him. I would open it, and there would be extremely graphic videos of women being murdered by their husbands or partners—women being shot, stabbed, raped, and killed. I would ask him: “Why are you sending me this? What’s the purpose? We’re okay right now.” His response was: “Just so you know what could happen to you if you don’t act right.” That sentence changed something inside of me. He wanted me to imagine what could happen if I disobeyed him, made him angry, or didn’t “act right.” I became terrified. I remember thinking there was no way out. I started believing that the only way I would ever leave him was in a casket. That is how much fear he had put inside me. The First Time I Left Eventually, I reached a point where I called a domestic violence hotline connected with the District Attorney’s office. They helped me get out. I left. For the first time, I had actually gotten away. But I was only gone for about a week. He made promises. He promised that things would be different. He said he would get a place away from his wife. He said we would finally be together, just the two of us. He promised he would buy me a car. So I went back. And almost immediately, I regretted it. Because when I returned, I discovered that he had thrown away almost everything I owned. My clothes. My shoes. My children’s beds. Things that belonged to me and my children were simply gone. He had even sold the SUV I had been driving. And suddenly, the promise to buy me a new car made sense. He had taken away my transportation, my belongings, my independence—and then presented himself as the person who would provide those things back to me. The Threat Against My Brother After I came back, he did everything he had promised. He bought “me” a car. He bought me a new ring. He bought clothes for me and the kids. He even started the process of buying a bigger house. For a little while, things seemed okay. But it didn’t last. Eventually, the message changed. He began reminding me that I had left him. That I had hurt him. That because I had left, I was going to “pay” for it. I knew then that something inside me had changed. I told him I didn’t want this anymore. I told him I was going to leave. This time, I actually had a plan. My brother was coming to get me. For the first time, I thought I might really be getting out. But the moment he found out my brother was on his way, everything changed. He threatened to kill my brother. He told me that if I didn’t call my brother and tell him not to come, he would kill him and claim it was self-defense because he was on his own property. I was terrified. I called my brother and told him not to come. From the outside, it probably looked like I had chosen to stay again. But inside, something had already changed. I had made my decision. I knew I didn’t want this life anymore. I knew I wanted to leave. But at that moment, I stayed because I was afraid of what he would do to my brother. I wasn’t staying because I wanted the relationship. I was staying because someone I loved had just been threatened. And that was the moment I understood something I had been struggling to understand for years: He wasn’t trying to make me love him. He was trying to make me afraid to leave him. I stayed that day. But mentally, I was already gone. The Day I Finally Escaped After that, I started planning without him noticing. I began using the computer at work to look for information and figure out how I could get away. My manager at the time helped me. Little by little, I reached out to my family back home. We made a plan. Quietly. Carefully. He had decided that we needed a bigger house, and we were in the process of moving. Because we were moving, he had taken down some of the cameras. For the first time in a long time, I had a small window where I wasn’t being watched everywhere I went. I knew I had to take it. One morning, I woke up and acted like everything was completely normal. I followed our normal morning routine. I talked to him like nothing was wrong. The kids went to school. He left for work before me, and normally I would leave about an hour later. But that morning, I had a plan. I packed only what was absolutely essential. My important documents. A few necessities. Everything I could fit into a small backpack. I couldn’t take much. I couldn’t risk him noticing that anything was missing. Before my children went to school, I spoke with my oldest daughter. She did not have a phone. So I made sure she understood exactly what she needed to do. I told her that when the school bus dropped her off, she was not to go inside the house. I told her to take her backpack and only the most essential things she needed and leave. I would be there. Then I went to work. I left my backpack with my manager. Then I walked in front of his office so he would see me and believe I was at work. I went back to the main office. I handed my phone to a coworker and friend. She hid my phone and walked around the warehouse with it so he would think I was still at work. My manager gave me a burner phone so I could contact my family. Then my friend drove me to a parking lot. A family friend was already waiting for me. She had driven about five hours from another state to come get me and my children. Everything had been planned around one thing: He couldn’t know. And by the time he realized I was gone, I was already far away. I had no phone. He couldn’t call me. He couldn’t message me. He couldn’t track me through my phone. He couldn’t threaten me. When the school bus dropped my children off, I was already there waiting for them. They followed the instructions I had given them. I wasn’t leaving my children behind. I was taking them with me. For the first time in years, there was silence. I was finally away from him. I was finally out. And for the first time, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a very long time: safe. Staying Gone Leaving him was only the beginning. For months afterward, he tried to find ways to reach me. Emails. Text messages. Messenger. Different phone numbers. Any way he could find to get a message through. I had blocked him everywhere I could. Sometimes he would even send me money through Cash App just so he could attach a message to it. He was constantly trying to find another door into my life. Before I left, I had read that one of the most important things you can do with someone like him is to block them and not give in. So that’s what I did. I didn’t respond. I didn’t give in. I stayed away from him as much as I possibly could. It took a long time. But eventually, it worked. The messages stopped. The attempts to reach me stopped. And slowly, I started becoming free. Learning How to Feel Again Today, I am free. I am happy. I have my family around me. I have friends. I have people who love me and support me. I have a life that feels normal again. But getting physically away from him didn’t mean I was immediately okay. For months afterward—maybe even a year—I felt almost nothing. I didn’t feel sadness. I didn’t feel sympathy. I didn’t feel love. I didn’t feel like myself. I was completely shut down. Numb. Emotionally, I had already died long before I physically escaped. For so long, survival had been the only thing that mattered. Get through the day. Keep the peace. Protect the children. Avoid the next explosion. Make it through another night. I didn’t realize how much of myself I had lost just trying to survive. When I finally became safe, my body was safe before my mind was. It took time to feel again. It took time to laugh again. It took time to trust people again. It took time to understand that I was allowed to have a life that wasn’t built around fear. But eventually, I started coming back to myself. And now I understand something I wish every woman living through abuse could understand: Survival is not the end of your story. Survival is what gets you to the other side. I truly believe that if I had stayed, I would not be here today. Maybe I would have been physically killed. Maybe I would have eventually died emotionally and never found my way back. In some ways, I already felt dead inside. But I survived. And today, I am surrounded by people who love me. I have my children. I have my family. I have my friends. And I have myself again. For the first time in a very long time, I am not living just to survive. I am living. And if another woman reading this is somewhere in the middle of her own nightmare, I want her to know this: You are not stupid for staying. You are not weak because you went back. You are not responsible for what he did to you. You are not responsible for his choices. And you are not beyond saving. There is a way out. It may take planning. It may take time. You may have to leave more than once. You may be terrified. You may not know where you’re going to go or how you’re going to rebuild your life. But please don’t give up on the woman you were before the abuse. She is still in there. I know because I found her again. And if you’re reading this and you’re still in it, I hope you believe me when I tell you: You deserve to live. Not just survive. Live.

Im struggling to get my head around what to do and who to speak to. I was comfortably asleep and cuddling my boyfriend and had my head kind of on top of him, i woke up slightly and he was moving my hand to his crotch that was h*rd and at that point i was wide awake with my eyes still closed wondering what he was doing, i opened them a little and pretended i was moving in my sleep but he kept on using force moving my whole arm and hand to touch him and i didnt know what to do so i was still and he took out his phone like he was gonna take a picture. He knows i wouldnt want to do that and I dont know what to do or how to feel, i confronted him about it when i ‘woke up’ and i was in shock shaking, we were arguing and he started crying and long story short i ended up comforting him. he never truly said sorry once and i just feel lost because i have so much love for him but i genuinely never want to be with him again but the thought of never speaking to him again hurts me, and i know he wouldnt live without me. which is what scares me because im the only one there for him, i dont know what he would do without me. i just need help on a decision please im feeling very alone in this.

when i was in 6th grade my best friend friend (he was in 9th grade) had forced me into a very sexual relationship and 🍇ed me numeruos times. Now its 2 years later and i still get hallucinations of him. Its also hard to stop being sexual after this and its hard to get my mind to stop imagining it

My parents had never allowed me to date someone before so when they told me they trusted you I was so excited. You made me believe that love was pure and that you were honest in your intentions. I was so young when you taught me how easy it is to be drowned out by lies and false comfort. You used my friends and family against me until I had only your support to go off of. You never heard my cries or my plead to stop. You always did what you wanted. When you wanted. I will never forget you for teaching me how horrid someone can be. Even so, I will heal and grow without you in my life.

Hey! I'm 18, and all this happened a year and a half ago, I was 16. It's a really weird and messed up story, I never heard a similar one. I was going home late afternoon and got literally attacked by a group of I think 3 or 4 people older than me, all male. I dont know which language they were speaking. I really really tried to kick them and scream and resist but there was nothing I could do. I dont know how long it lasted, I was scared what they would do when they're done, if they would kill me or let me run away. They let me go when they were done, I picked up my things and literally ran home without stopping. I am so grateful there was nobody home and that nobody saw me going home. It was this feeling of emotionless and numbness when you cant feel anything that saved me. I showered, last time next 9 months, got dressed and prayed no one gets home soon. I didn't go out much next few days, acted normal enough that my parents wouldn't notice and tried to not think about it. I only told people online: a close friend and anonymously to hundreds who would read my reddit post. After a few months of constant crying in my room, I tried to kill myself, every time I decided I'd rather not die yet and threw up the pills, then be mad and try again... I cut myself, hit myself, would cry and scream in a corner of my room and hit myself with something when nobody is home. Hid all pretty well, parents would tell me I've changed and tried to get to me, mom would cry and ask me what's wrong but I would, barely holding it in, tell her shes making it all up and go to my room rolling my eyes. I still cut myself, sometimes hit myself and pull my hair, subconsciously pick the skin around my fingernails so it bleeds, my hands look absolutely horrible. My thighs are covered in 30cm long scars from knee to hip and it's sometimes a pain to walk and even sleep. Idk how I survived the summer, people at the beach would look at my leg but nobody ever said anything. I've still never told anyone in real life, I am extremely ashamed of all of it, cant walk down the street with my head up, cant imagine telling parents or talking to a therapist. I really just dont want to be sad anymore. This text is poorly written and doesnt really transfer all emotions well, I didnt really see the keyboard because of crying. But thank you for reading this. Knowing someone knows I'm going through this helps. And that there are other people. Thank you really.

Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

I had accepted my fate, until one day a friend witnessed the aftermath of the abuse. That friend saved my life, and I found my will to live. It's been ten years since I said no more, and I've built a life for myself that I never thought I'd live to see. You are not alone. You are worthy. You are loved. You deserve the world. There is a reason you are here, and the world is so much better with you in it.

When I was about 5 years old, around 2010, I had a 3-year-old cousin. I don't know exactly how it started. It began with kisses, and I would climb on top of her. I don't remember exactly where I saw it, but my parents just watched them kissing. I remember one time I kissed my cousin on the mouth. That day it was a party. My parents, aunts, uncles, and other relatives said goodbye, and I kissed her. Afterward, I felt strange. Then I kissed her more and more. We stopped in 2013. Then in 2012, with another cousin, it was the same. I would kiss her, and we would laugh. Nobody ever knew, but with that cousin, it continued until 2020. There was also sex in 2017 and 2018. It was consensual. I was 13, and she was 10. Then, around 2017, I also kissed a cousin. He was about the same age as my cousin. I was about 12 years old. Then it happened with her brother, who was almost 14. He gave me oral sex. He kissed me too, and we had anal sex. A lot of time passed until 2021, when I was 16. My 18-year-old cousin went into the bathroom and did the same thing to me: oral sex and masturbation. Every time it happened, it made me uncomfortable. Then he left the bathroom because someone knocked on the door. Nobody knocked. I was scared and felt guilty. Then in 2021, around December, my 10-year-old cousin and I, who was 16 at the time, and my cousin, who was also around 18, told me to get in the bathroom with him. I told him no because I didn't want to. Later, I agreed, and then my 18-year-old cousin put his hand on my penis, and I pulled away. Then, around August 2023, I decided to talk to my mom about it, and she started crying and got very angry.

I was 18 when it happened. I was at the local mall with a few friends, celebrating our high school graduation. We had went into the Disney Store. I can still hear my one friend going "grab her." the laughter while they grabbed me. i was unable to get away as two of them hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. i can still feel my one friend's arms around me. their lips on my face. i was frozen in shock and awkwardly laughed it off. needless to say, those girls did not stay my friends for long after that. one of their graduation parties was the last time we were together. after that, they invited me out freshman year of college. I denied and never spoke to any of them again. After it happened, i told my mom. she did nothing. the only person who kind of took me seriously was my best friend at the time (whole other ball of yarn happened with her). it took 6 years. 6 years for someone to tell me that what I'd experienced was harassment. that my feelings at the time were valid. PS: that store is now closed. I sometimes wish I would've gone in one last time. But maybe it's a good thing that the store is gone, symbolic in a sense.

At the age of 8-9? I can’t really remember clearly but I had a cousin who was really close with me she and I would be inseparable almost she and I were practically besties ! Until when we were in the closet one day she showed me things I didn’t want to see and I don’t even remember vaguely but I was touched and didn’t consent but also didn’t stop it she showed me things and I can’t tell if its cosca, i dont want to be wrong because we did things together that was absolutely gross and so wrong to do i feel so dirty so icky and weird about how i am supposed to just forget it or am i not?